"Absolutely not!" roared the heavy-set man, slamming his fist against the desk, knocking over his nameplate and a bin of spare quills.

His secretary let out a yelp of alarm and hurried to righten the items, revealing that the nameplate read, "Carter Fusman—Deputy Head—Auror Office." Fusman was quick to brush her away.

"As I assured them your reaction was likely to be," said Robbie Tresillian, the man standing closest to Fusman's desk. While the Aurors of the Homicide Division turned to Nellie as their leader out in the field, Tresillian was the official Division Director back in the office.

"Look, Rob, I know Howard's the rookie here, but from my experience his judgment is rarely unsound," Nellie replied. "He would never have suggested such a blatant disregard for protocol unless he had a very good reason for it."

Nellie glanced at Howard as she spoke, fully expecting him to resent being called a rookie; after all, he had been an Auror for nearly a year now. Instead his uncertain expression betrayed the fact that he felt much less confident in his own judgment than she did.

"Which is why I did not reject your proposal outright," Tresillian said.

"Could have saved me the effort," Fusman growled. "I'm going to give you ten minutes to get her out of here, or I'm calling the Obliviators."

"But she has information!" Howard protested. "You wouldn't be doing this if she weren't a Muggle, you—"

"Let it go, Kruse," Tristan said from the corner of the office.

"But—"

"Howard, it's no use," Nellie said. "Come on, let's go show her out."

Howard looked like he had plenty more to say, but Nellie gave him a sharp look and he fell quiet. "Good choice," Fusman said with a smug smile, sitting down in his chair before barking at his secretary. "Marion! My tea!"

Nellie, Howard, and Tristan left the office as Marion rushed past them, teacup in hand.

"So that's it, then?" Howard said, rounding on the other two as soon as they were out of earshot of Fusman's office. "We're giving up on a lead just because our source is a Muggle? That's stupid!"

"I merely said we'd escort her out," Nellie said. "I didn't say anything about giving up on her, did I?"

"It wouldn't really have mattered if you had," Tristan pointed out.

"Shut up," Nellie said.

"You better be right about her," Tristan said to Howard. "We told you what happened last time we tried to go off of a Muggle source—"

"Oh, don't be so hard on him," Nellie said. "Why don't you two head down to the Courtrooms and see what you can get out of Platt? I'll take care of our lead."

"Where will you take her?" Howard asked.

"My flat," Nellie said. "You can meet up with us there afterwards."

"Come, Kruse," Tristan said, jerking his head towards the office doors. With a swish of his robes, he led the way out of the Auror Office, and Howard, after casting a fleeting glance in Nellie's direction, rushed after him.

Nellie watched them go. Then she turned around and made her way to her cubicle, where Freda stood waiting, chatting animatedly with the woman Howard had apprehended. Scarlett Brewster sat in Nellie's own chair, a sparkling, silver ribbon of mist binding her wrist to one of the legs of Nellie's desk. Scarlett did not seem to mind; in fact, she appeared to be examining the ribbon with fascination.

"There you are," Freda said, turning to Nellie and holding up a bright blue square of parchment. "Kenzie left this for you, by the way, it's her birthday Saturday and she wants all of us to—"

"We have to go," Nellie interrupted, pulling out her wand.

"Where to?" Freda said.

"Actually, it'd probably be best if you stay here," Nellie said. "If Tresillian asks, tell him I've gone to find Blumstein's sister." She flicked her wand over Scarlett's wrist, freeing her, before offering Scarlett her arm.

"Oh, no," Scarlett said, shaking her head frantically. "No, no, no, no, not this again."

"Do try to keep your lunch inside you this time," Nellie said, making do by putting her hand on Scarlett's arm instead and turning on the spot.

Scarlett stepped out of the bathroom, dabbing at her lips with a scrap of toilet paper.

"You want some water?" Nellie called out.

Scarlett sat down across from Nellie, scowling at her while accepting the glass of water she offered. "So why am I here? I don't know if he told you, but I made a deal with your friend Howard—"

"You were the one who sent us that tape five years ago, weren't you?" Nellie said, narrowing her eyes at Scarlett.

"I—what?" Scarlett said, swallowing her water a little too quickly, rather taken aback. "Oh—right, that, yeah. How did you know?"

"Platt called out after you, saying he recognised you just before you ran," Nellie said. "It wasn't that hard to put two and two together."

"I didn't think you ever got it," said Scarlett. "You never arrested Platt."

"It's difficult trying to convince wizards that Muggles are a reliable source," Nellie said. "It's the same reason why the Auror Office can't work with you—not officially, at least."

"That's stupid," Scarlett said, crossing her arms.

Nellie smiled. "That's what Howard said."

"Well, it's true," Scarlett said, bolting up from her seat and pacing across the room. "It's the reason why Platt's still out there, and if he's the one ripping people to pieces—"

"I know that," Nellie said. "That's why I'm open to anything you can do to help us."

"Yeah?" Scarlett said. "What can I do for you?"

"How did you find Carol Blumstein?" Nellie said.

"Started off as a pretty routine job," Scarlett said with a shrug. "I found her PA from the photo studio she works at—"

"You were in Hogsmeade?" Nellie asked incredulously.

"'Course not. I found him in this pub, actually, mousy little bloke. Pretty easy to get him to talk, he hated the poor woman. She'd taken a couple of days off from work to go out on a camping trip with some other bloke. Apparently they'd gotten into a row or something, because he ditched her in the middle of the woods."

"She didn't have an Apparition license," said Nellie. "She probably tried to get to the nearest road where she could hail the night bus."

"My thoughts exactly," Scarlett said, though she was not entirely sure what Nellie meant by "night bus" (or was it "knight bus"?) or what an "Apparition license" was. "Then I just searched abandoned cabins in the area until I found that one at the very edge, and there—well, there she was."

"Platt's house was on the edge of a forest, as well," Nellie said thoughtfully. "Do you think there's a connection there?"

"Barely got to talk to Platt, did I?" Scarlett said. "Who knows, there might be."

Three gruesome pictures were placed before Christoph Platt on the table in the cold, dark courtroom. Platt glared at them defiantly.

"I don't know them," Platt growled. "You have no right to hold me here! I've done nothing, and you've got nothing on me!"

"You tried to jinx an Auror, Chris," Howard said, shaking his head as he sat across from Platt.

"She was trying to arrest me on false pretences!"

"What, on a murder charge from five years ago?" said Tristan, peering at Platt over the bridge of his nose. "Don't think that defence'll hold much water."

"Plus, you divulged wizarding secrets to a Muggle," Howard said. "The Wizengamot's convicted people for less."

"She told me she was with you!" said Platt.

Tristan let out a hollow, humourless chuckle. "Fooled by a Muggle. Better. Nobody would put such idiocy past you."

Platt made to stand up, but the silver ribbons around his legs kept him rooted to the floor. Instead he merely lurched forward, causing the table before him to tremble.

Tristan was pleased to see that Platt was starting to become riled up. Though Tristan was starting to doubt that Platt had anything to do with the Skull Smasher murders, he was certain that Platt had killed before, and such brutal killers were prone to killing again. Tristan would welcome any piece of information that could lock Platt up in Azkaban.

But then, to Tristan's surprise, Platt's hairy lips curled into a sneer. "You have no idea what you're up against, do you?"

Tristan scoffed. "An unkempt, overweight man with anger issues?"

"You will regret this," Platt said, balling up his fists against the tabletop. "All of you Aurors will regret having ever insulted me."

"Oh will I?" Tristan said, planting his palms on the table and leaning in close, staring Platt down with vicious eyes. He was irked by Platt's smug look, as if he knew something that Tristan did not.

"Woah, er, Tristan, easy," Howard said, placing a hand on Tristan's shoulder. Tristan straightened and shrugged it off. "We'll be back."

The Aurors left the courtroom.

"I get the feeling Platt's not the one we're looking for," Howard said.

Tristan raised his eyebrows at him silently.

"Er," Howard tried again. "I mean, don't you think—well, clearly he's acclimatised to violence, when we showed him the pictures he didn't even blink, but this doesn't really fit his style, does it? Where's his prepared alibi this time? All he's got are empty threats."

"Agreed," said Tristan.

"Good. Yeah, okay. So why do we still have him in custody?"

"Because he's a murderer," said Tristan, as if this were obvious.

"You know that for sure?"

"I heard what was unmistakably his voice, boasting and jeering about ripping a man's head clean off of his neck," said Tristan. "If you'd heard it you'd be as convinced as I am."

"Right," said Howard. Then, "How do you explain the alibi? Did he just ask a group of friends to lie for him, and it worked?"

"Do you honestly think somebody like that would have friends?" Tristan said. "The four who came forward in his defense were his lackeys, his henchmen, and he was their head. Whatever he asked of them, they would be compelled to do. I tried to get through to them, to break them—but we needn't go into that, do we?"

Tristan turned to Howard, expecting him to express his disapproval, but Howard was staring intently ahead, his brow furrowed. For a few silent moments, Tristan watched Howard curiously as Howard continued to stare forward, but then Howard spoke. "What did you say?"

"I said I tried to get through to the ones who vouched for Platt," Tristan said.

"No, before that," said Howard. "You said there were four others and Platt was their head."

"If you'd already known what I said—"

"He was the head. He pulled off the head." Howard's eyes widened. "That's what he boasted about, because that's all he did."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, so maybe Platt has the strength to decapitate someone with his bare hands, sure, he's a large man, and maybe he drank a Strengthening Solution, and he could have put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the victim's shoes and just pulled or something. But would he have the patience to go through every single limb?"

Tristan's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying—"

"There were four others, four of these lackeys, as you put it. One per limb, and he gets the neck. They shackle down his torso and then they all pull until his head and limbs fall off."

"They were in on it together," Tristan said, slowly nodding. "But if four homicidal mates of his are still out there, his threats may not be empty ones. I know for a fact he's had a grudge against us ever since we attempted to arrest him last time. Now that we've brought in Platt a second time, there's a strong likelihood they'll retaliate against us."

"They wouldn't try to break into the Ministry, would they?" Howard said with a concerned frown. Tristan shook his head.

"Not likely," he said. "But we should warn Nellie. Is she still at her flat?"

Scarlett set down the glass of water on the tea table in front of her before jerking back in surprise. A silver, shimmering snake, long and elegant, slithered through the air and settled beside the glass, extending its hood and baring its fangs at Nellie.

Scarlett reached instinctively for the holster beneath her coat, only to remember that the Aurors had confiscated it. But then the snake began to speak, and Scarlett merely stared at it, enraptured.

"Platt had help," the snake said. "Four people. They may be coming for you."

The snake vanished. Nellie stood, drawing out her wand and flicking it in Scarlett's direction. Suddenly Scarlett found her gun hurtling towards her; she caught it by the barrel.

"Careful with this!" Scarlett said, cradling her gun in her hands. "What was that? What's going on?"

"That was Tristan," Nellie said, pointing her wand at her front door. "Howard said you were fast. Think you can handle yourself?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Scarlett said, aiming her gun in the same direction. "I—"

The door flew off its hinges and landed on the floor with a clutter.

"Confringo!" Nellie shouted.

The door exploded into a flaming cloud of splinters and dust. Scarlett could hear a horrible hacking sound emitting from behind it; dark silhouettes were visible behind the fire.

Scarlett leapt over the back of the couch and positioned herself behind it, firing bullet after bullet into the flames, aiming low. A figure appeared in the window—large and sneering—and Scarlett turned to shoot at him. There was a shout as the man fell, his arm trying to shield his face from the broken glass.

Then three others burst through the wall of fire, two men and a woman, patches of their clothes still charred or aflame. They charged at Nellie, their skin bronzed and glowing.

"Strengthening Solutions," Scarlett heard Nellie mutter. Indeed, Scarlett noticed that even though the attackers' legs were peppered with bullet wounds, none her bullets seemed to hamper their movements in any way.

Nellie was alone, facing them head on, three to one. If Scarlett couldn't hurt them, she'd have to distract them some other way.

"Hey, you!" Scarlett shouted, jumping up and firing three shots at the biggest and bulkiest of the three, who turned and cast her a fuming snarl.

Scarlett turned on the spot and ran as the man gave chase.

Nellie held her wand in front of her, shielding herself from the barrage of curses that the man and woman were firing at her. Their aim wasn't too great, but at such close range, it didn't matter; Nellie couldn't risk undoing her Shield Charm.

Instead she kept her wand raised and backed away slowly, keeping her other arm stretched out behind her to guide her way.

She led the two down a hallway and traced her hand against the wall to her left. Finding the right spot, she pressed her entire palm against it, and she sank right through the wall.

She was safe, here, she knew, but she couldn't just leave the Muggle out there to fend for herself. She scanned the small, dark room for a moment, thinking, before getting to work.

Lighting a fire on the floor with her wand, she pulled a cabinet open with her other hand and withdrew a large cauldron from it, which she hovered over the flames.

She shot a jet of boiling water into the cauldron before pulling out a variety of vials and jars from the cabinets that surrounded her, where she always kept her ingredients stocked up in case of emergencies. Pouring and mixing this and that at breakneck speed, she had her potion brewing within a minute. Thankfully, antidotes were quick to finish.

She heard bangs and grunts outside, which she took to mean that the attackers were attempting to break down the wall she had disappeared through. This was good news; as long as she could keep them on her, Scarlett would be safe—at least, as safe as she could be under the circumstances.

As she waited for her potion to brew, she pulled out several glass phials filled with a sort of blue vapour and slipped them into a small brown draw bag. Then as soon as the antidote was done, she scooped it into an empty jar before thrusting her hand through the wall she had come through and emptying the contents of the bag onto the floor. As each phial collided with the floor, Nellie heard a crash, a hiss, and a bang as they exploded like firecrackers.

This will be a pain to clean up afterwards, she thought, as she burst back through the wall into the hallway to find the man and woman coughing loudly as dark blue smoke surrounded them. Nellie leapt towards the man, pinning his throat to the wall with one hand as she tipped the contents of the jar into his mouth with the other. Pulling out her wand, she sent a jinx at him that would force him to swallow.

By then the woman had recovered. She stood, pointing her wand directly at Nellie's heart as the man howled in pain, clutching at the metal pellets in his leg that he had only just now become conscious of.

The woman grinned widely, apparently savouring the moment, before she spoke. "Crucio!"

Recalling the general area from which Nellie had emerged with the glass of water, Scarlett sprinted in that direction and was pleased to see that she found herself in the kitchen.

She was less pleased when a flash of green light narrowly missed the edge of her left shoulder. She jumped to the side onto the kitchen counter, watching as the man's momentum propelled him past her before she leapt onto his back, digging her nails firmly into his shoulder blades.

The man swung his fist back wildly and knocked the gun out of her hands; it clattered to the floor and slid out of reach. Scarlett grabbed the man's wand in retaliation and pulled, trying to twist his wrist back while keeping the wand pointed away from her.

The man leaned back and threw Scarlett off his shoulders; Scarlett kept her hand wrapped around his wand, figuring that if she fell, at least the wand would break. But it didn't break, so Scarlett hung from it like a monkey and planted a flurry of kicks at his spine.

The man swung his arm to and fro until Scarlett's grip finally loosened, and she fell to the floor, the wind knocked out of her. As he raised his wand at her, she grabbed a pan from beside her and held it in front of her like a shield. To her immense surprise, this worked; the jet of light that shot out of the man's wand bounced off of it and hit the kitchen sink instead, causing the pipes beneath it to burst open, water rushing out of them and flooding the floor.

The second spell reduced the pan to a pile of dust. In desperation, Scarlett threw the still intact handle at man's face, and he stepped back and winced as it collided with his eyelid.

His eyes, she thought. That must be his weak point. Her gun nowhere in sight, she climbed back onto the kitchen counter and snatched up a pair of knives.

As the man directed his wand at her once more, Scarlett pressed the flat side of one blade against the wooden stick, pushing it to the side, then plunged the other knife into his eye.

An inhuman howl burst forth from the man as he dropped his wand and clutched at his eye. He raised an arm at Scarlett, swiping wildly at her face, and Scarlett crouched, poised to strike again; but then the man collapsed, falling face first onto the floor with a splash, driving the blade further up into his head.

The woman was too close. Nellie shut her eyes, bracing herself for the pain that she knew would come.

Instead she heard a loud bang. Opening her eyes, she found herself staring down at half of a wand, the rest of it in shambles on the floor.

"Stupefy!" Nellie yelled, taking advantage of the woman's surprise. The woman fell backwards and crumpled against the wall.

Nellie turned to find Scarlett at the end of the hall, gun still smoking. "Good aim," Nellie remarked, genuinely impressed. Scarlett merely nodded as she walked over to Nellie's side, keeping the gun trained on the two fallen bodies. Nellie Stunned the man she had fed the antidote to for good measure.

"I'm going to call this in," Nellie said. "Where's the big one?"

"Dead," Scarlett said, looking a little shaken, her chest heaving up and down as she tried to catch her breath. "I, er, may have ruined your kitchen."

Nellie laughed, which helped to produce the massive, silver wolf that sprang out of the tip of her wand and bounded off into the distance. She focused her mind on Tristan. We beat them. Send Healers, reinforcements.

Then she turned to Scarlett. "Are you hurt?"

"Just scrapes and bruises," Scarlett said, shrugging. "I'll be fine."

Scarlett's trousers were torn, and her knee was bleeding badly. Nellie pointed at it and muttered, "Episkey," and the bleeding was staunched. "Hope that helps."

Scarlett nodded before leaning back against the wall, tucking her gun back into her holster, closing her eyes, and letting out a shaky sigh.

"Hey," Nellie said, putting a gentle hand on Scarlett's shoulder. "Go home. Take a break. I'll put in a good word for you to my boss and you can join us in the investigation whenever you feel like it. Here—" Nellie conjured up a scrap of parchment and handed it to Scarlett. "Go to that address, get in the old phone box, and dial six two four four two. Then go on in and tell them you're with me."

Scarlett opened her mouth; whether to protest or press for more information, Nellie did not know, for at that moment a loud crash sounded from down the hall.

Both of them rushed back into the living room, Scarlett with her gun drawn once more. The man who had attempted to break in through the window had apparently successfully done so; he was now running towards the women, his face red and furious, his wand outstretched, shards of glass sticking out of his skin at odd angles.

"Stupefy!" Nellie cried, but the man deflected the spell with a furious wave of his wand in the direction of Scarlett, who narrowly dodged the streak of red light by sliding to the floor.

"The eyes!" Scarlett shouted, and Nellie understood; she waved her wand in a circle in the air and the bits of glass rose from the man's body. They spun through the air, surrounding him in a sparkling tornado before thrusting themselves into the sockets of his eyes.

As the man staggered back, Nellie extracted the jar of antidote to Strengthening Solution out of the pocket of her robes and tapped it with her wand; it zoomed towards the man and planted its mouth against his, emptying itself down his throat.

There was a loud pop as two people—Tristan and Freda—appeared out of nowhere and strode swiftly across the room, efficiently subduing the howling man as he attempted to bat away the shards of glass that still surrounded him.

"The Healers will be here in a moment," Freda assured them. "Sorry we took so long to get here, Fusman made a huge fuss when we told them you were still with Scarlett."

Nellie looked to Tristan, who gave her a small nod and said, "We'll take it from here."

The next morning was the first of September. Professor Peterson rose rather early and headed down the stairs to his office, opening the window and allowing the sunlight and the brisk autumn air to stream into the room. Along with these flew in a great horned owl, landing gracefully on the windowsill, a square envelope tied to its leg.

The envelope was addressed to "Mark Peterson, D.A.D.A. Professor's Office, Hogwarts." Mark withdrew a penknife from his pocket and slit the envelope neatly open before emptying its contents into his palm.

"Hi, Mark, we haven't heard from you in ages! Hope it's fun being back at school. Anyway, as I'm sure you remember, it's my birthday on the 3rd and I do hope you'll be at the party I'm having at my place. We all miss you! Sincerely, Kenzie."

Mark smiled fondly to himself as he read the letter, written in the familiar scrawl that he had once come across daily in the paperwork that he had dealt with as an Auror. He had liked Kenzie, had liked his whole team, in fact, and he would indeed be delighted to see them again.

The professor made his way once more to the wardrobe in the corner of his office. Opening its door, he leaned down and, using his penknife with care and precision, began to hack off the blackened bones of the hand of the corpse lying inside.

After a few minutes, the hand fell with a thud to the bottom of the wardrobe. Mark picked it up and set it within the fishbowl-sized stone mortar on his desk before tapping it once with his wand; immediately, the hand was reduced to rubble.

Mark ground away at the bits of charred bone with his pestle until it had attained the consistency of sand. This he poured into his copper cauldron before adding to it a jet of boiling water from his wand.

By the end of the hour, the liquid within the cauldron was pitch black. Mark, who had been reading while waiting for the ink to brew, set down his book and dipped his wand into the cauldron to test the consistency of the fluid.

Nodding in approval, he siphoned off a bit with his wand before rolling up the hem of his robes and clenching his teeth. Pointing the tip of his wand to his shin, he slid it along his skin, injecting the ink into his leg as it joined the dozens of markings beneath it.

It stung painfully, but he did not mind. The professor proceeded to ladle the rest of the ink into the wells he had conjured up beside the cauldron. With a flick of his wand, all but one of them flew off and tucked themselves into a drawer at the bottom of his desk.

Mark dipped his favourite quill, dark blue in colour, into the remaining inkwell, and he began to pen his reply.